


Heaven Sent

by allonsy_gabriel, Wayward_Weary_butWonderfilled



Series: Heaven Sent, Hell Bent [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crazy Gabriel, Heavy Angst, Implied Torture, M/M, Mental Illness, Post-Season/Series 11 AU, Sabriel Big Bang, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Sick Gabriel, This shit is sad, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 02:32:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10207262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Weary_butWonderfilled/pseuds/Wayward_Weary_butWonderfilled
Summary: In the fight against Amara, Chuck decides he needs more fire power, and rescues Gabriel from whatever hell pit Metatron has been keeping him in since he resurrected him. Sam doesn't expect Gabriel to be so broken, and he certainly doesn't expect the feelings he had for the archangel to return full force.





	

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: implied torture, mental illness, lots of bad, yikes

"What do you mean, not strong enough? You're God!" Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"He means last time it took me and my brothers combined to weaken Auntie Amara enough for Pops to put her back in her box," Lucifer said with a shrug, glancing over at Sam and flashing him a smirk, making him recoil and shoot the Devil a hard look.

"So, what? We get the other archangels? Aren't Raphael and Gabriel dead?" he asked, taking a step away from his tormentor, but straightening his back and shoulders.

"Michael is… in no fit shape to fight. And resurrecting Raphael would take power that we can't really spare. Amara will have soon have enough strength to attack again. No, our best bet is Gabriel," Chuck replied.

"Gabriel? Isn't he, I dunno, dead?" Dean asked.  
Lucifer shrugged again when everyone turned to look at him, sardonic in a way that pissed off both of the Winchesters.

"Sorry?"

"No, or at least, he's not right now," God said, intervening before Dean could say something that could get him killed, "I believe you're all familiar with Metatron?"

"That son of a bitch," Dean growled, and Sam's expression hardened as anger and loathing filled him.

"What about him?"

"While he was trying to take a spin as me, he decided he could use an… attack dog, of sorts. He wanted an archangel. He didn't dare go near the cage, and out of the two left he chose the least intimidating," Chuck said.

"So Gabriel's alive?" Sam asked, his whole demeanour softening with amazement. He wasn't gonna lie, he'd always felt a sort of. . . empathy with the youngest archangel, at least once they'd discovered who he really was; he was glad Gabriel was alive.

"Barely. Metatron quickly learned that Gabriel doesn't, well, follow instructions well," God answered. Dean snorted.

"Gabriel? Not follow instructions? Impossible."

Sam fixed him with a bitchface as Chuck continued. "He's imprisoned in Metatron's hideout, hurt but alive."

"Then what are you waiting for? In case you haven't noticed, the end is pretty fucking nigh," Dean said.

Chuck stared at Dean for a moment. "It would do you well to remember who you're talking to, Dean," he said quietly. It was a simple phrase said with little weight in his voice, the vocal equivalent of shrugging shoulder. Still, Dean took a step back with lowered eyes, but tightened his fists.

"Just… how do we save him?" Sam asked, stepping in before Dean could say something rash.

Chuck looked between Sam, Dean, and Lucifer and nodded. He said nothing, gave no visual testament to what he was doing, but suddenly there was a gasp from the next room. It was only then that Chuck gave even the slightest acknowledgment, muttering, "I'll be in my room." Then he turned and left.

"Wha-what? Chuck!" Dean yelled after him, while Sam ran into the living room. There, sprawled sideways on the couch like someone had dropped him there, was Gabriel.

 

The archangel wasn't in good shape. There were deep cuts along his cheeks and bloody wounds on his sides. His eyes were open but blank and glassy, and he began struggling when Sam came near him.

"Please, please, just leave me alone," he begged, "I can't‒I can't do it anymore! Not him, please!"

"Gabriel?" Sam asked quietly, placing a hand on his side. Gabriel flinched and Sam drew his hand away. It came back bloody.

"Leave! Just leave me here! I get it! I get the joke! I know what's going on! Just go away!" Gabriel yelled.

"Gabriel, it's Sam. Sam Winchester."

"No it's not," Gabriel spat, his eyes clouding with anger, "It's not you now, it wasn't you then, it's never been you! So just leave me alone!"

"What? What do you mean, it's never been me?" Sam asked. He slowly tried to help him sit up, but Gabriel pulled away from the touch again.

"Is this your new bit? Huh? You leave me there to stew for a year and then you come back and put him in front of me?! To, what, have me recount my tale of woe and misery?!" he screamed at the sky. Slowly he descended into some sort of maniacal laughter. "Well guess what? I'm not falling for it! I'm done! I'm done playing! You can go fuck yourself, Metatron." The last words were mumbled, barely audible, as the barking laughter and insane giggles died down.

The air in the room went stale, and Sam began to notice the discoloration of some of the visible wounds. Sickly yellow, almost green, and oozing blood and pus, they smelled like rotten meat. The heat coming off him was intense, and a quick brush to Gabriel's skin told Sam that he had a fever.

"So you're being stubborn this time? Decided that this," Gabriel waved his hand weakly, "wasn't enough? You gotta go kick a man when he's down? Well damn you. Damn you to hell. You and your fucking delusions of grandeur. Just go die."

Sam knew Gabriel wasn't talking to him, not really, but the next words struck him just the same. "You're no better than Lucifer. The only difference is that he wasn't trying to destroy the world, and you are. You're a disease, and I would love nothing more than your head on a spike," he growled, and when Sam finally went to go help him, he clung to him and drug his jagged nails down Sam's arm.

“Gabriel please! I don't know what you think is going on, but I swear I'm not going to hurt you. Just let me help you,” Sam asked, trying to ignore the blood that was dripping from his arm.

Gabriel deflated, like all the will and fight had left him. He said nothing, his eyes glossing over again, and the last words he whispered were, “Be real for me this time, Sammy,” before slipping out of consciousness.

 

Sam carried Gabriel to the room next to his own, laying him down on the bed before going to get the first aid supplies.

"What the hell was that?” Dean asked once Sam left the room.

“I-I’m not sure.”

“He’s batshit insane, Sammy! Like, oatmeal for brains, insane!”

“And?”

“And… well, we don’t have the time, Sam!”

“Time for what?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“For him to heal!”

“So what? We just let him die?”

“We’re in the middle of the end of the world!” Dean yelled in exasperation, throwing his hands in the air.

“God brought him back, Dean. God. Don’t you think we should take his word for it?”

“So what, God? God hasn’t helped so far, why would he start now?” Dean roared.

“Because it’s the darkness, Dean!”

“He’s crazy!”

“He’s the last good archangel!”

“Good?!” Dean asked, taking a step forward, “Did you forget the hundred times he killed me?!”

Sam also took a step forward, glaring at Dean. “No, Dean, I’m the one who remembers,” he growled, then turned on his heel and stormed off to find the first aid kit.

 

Sam had sterilized and wrapped Gabriel’s wounds and was now sitting on the corner of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. He couldn’t believe it. They had an archangel that wasn’t Satan who could help them, and Dean didn’t want it? Because of what, some petty grudge over a thing he couldn’t even remember?

Gabriel hadn’t so much as twitched the whole time Sam had bandaged his injuries‒and there were many. Through stitches and stinging antiseptic and poking and prodding he’d stayed unconscious. At one point Sam had noticed the he wasn’t breathing and panicked before realizing that archangels probably didn’t need to breathe. If they did… then Gabriel was in a bad place.

Sam eventually left him after a good two hours without so much as an inhale. He grabbed a beer and a bagged salad from the kitchen and chowed down, elbows deep in research on anything that might help the ailing archangel.

He did, of course, know of something that could heal Gabriel. Something in the bunker. Something that sang folk songs in the shower and made (admittedly good) pancakes at wee hours in the morning.

Something that had made it pretty clear he didn’t want to see his son.

So Sam continued looking, through the internet and dusty old books and anything he could find. He searched until the sun came in through the high windows and his thoughts dissolved into mush and things swam before his eyes.

In his tired haze Sam forgot he had an archangel in his bed, flopping down next to Gabriel fully clothed, not even caring that the bed was already occupied.

When he awoke hours later, Sam noticed that Gabriel had shifted from his back to his side, so that he was pressed against Sam’s back in a way that was… awkward, to say the least. But the movement meant that Gabriel was, in fact, alive, so Sam counted his blessings.

Sam climbed out of bed, his clothes stiff, and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at the grease and grime he felt. He needed a shower.

He came out of the restroom to see that Gabriel had moved yet again, rolling away from where Sam had been sleeping and clutching a pillow like a lifeline. He still looked like shit, but that was the second sign of life in eight hours, so Sam counted it as a victory.

Sam got dressed and sat on the bed, opposite of the sleeping archangel and continued his research.

If Sam was being honest with himself (and let’s be serious, how often did that happen?) he’d admit that he had more reasons to want to heal Gabriel than to stop the Darkness. The littlest archangel was funny when he wasn’t being a dick (which was even more rare than Sam being honest with himself), and despite how much he still resented him for Mystery Spot, he had to say he saw the Trickster’s angle. He was sentimental, he cared, it was easy to talk to him, and dammit, Sam kind of liked him.

In a friend way.

Obviously.

 

Book after book, website after (really sketchy) website, and Sam wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to help Gabriel. He was about to give up, do as Dean said and just focus on beating Amara when Gabriel rolled onto his back and opened his eyes.

He didn’t scream or cry or make any noise, really. He just lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling. Still not breathing, and not even blinking.

“Gabriel?” Sam asked quietly. He went to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Gabriel hissed and moved away. That meant he was responsive, at least. “Gabriel, it’s Sam Winchester. I need you to talk to me.”

No reply. No movement. Not even a twitch.

“Gabriel, please.”

Nada.

 

Gabriel was terrified. He was in some place but he wasn’t really there and this wasn’t real it was just a set and Not-Sam was there but he felt like Sam but Not-Sam didn’t usually feel like Sam. He usually felt… cold. And dead.

And if Gabriel didn’t do anything maybe nothing would happen. Maybe Metatron would get bored.

Maybe he’d decide to use someone else.

So Gabriel lay there like a statue, trying his hardest to ignore Not-Sam. He couldn’t help but shy away from the touch. This Not-Sam felt like Sam. Real Sam. His Sam, except he wasn’t his Sam. Real Sam wasn’t Gabriel’s. Not-Sam wasn’t either.

There were bandages on most of his wounds. Usually Metatron didn’t take it this far. Usually he stopped it by now. Stopped it and came in with his blades and spells and all those things that hurt and he laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed‒

Not-Sam was touching him again. Touching him and it felt like Sam and it looked like and Sam and it sounded like Sam.

“Gabriel, Gabriel please. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe. It’s Sam. You’re safe, I just need you to say something.”

Gabriel couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t. HE COULDN’T. That wasn’t Sam! It wasn’t! It was never Sam! It wasn’t Sam every time they came in to rescue him. It wasn’t Sam every time he screamed at Gabriel. It wasn’t Sam every time he died. It wasn’t. So he couldn’t.

The heavy sigh Sam huffed barely even registered in Gabriel’s mind, which was so fuzzy it may as well have been stuffed full of cotton. He couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t see straight, and Not-Sam needed to stop. He wanted so desperately for this to be real, but he knew there was no way. Thank Dad he didn’t need to breath, because even if he did he wouldn’t be.

“Gabriel. . . please,” the pleading in Sam’s voice. . . that couldn’t be real. Now he knew for sure, at least. This was where Metatron had slipped up, proving that this was just another game. There was no way Sam Winchester really cared that much about him.

After a long moment of silence and stillness, Sam stood. He crossed to the door, retraced his steps back to stand by the edge of the bed, and repeated that process a few times. “God, do you breathe? I hope you don’t. That sounded bad‒anyway. Gabriel. . . I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can. . .” There was another heavy sigh. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head right now, but whatever it is I know it's not good. Just‒I promise you, I’m real. I’m real and I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear on everything that matters. You’re safe.”

Gabriel didn’t move, and Sam sunk down and put his head in his hands.

Gabriel wanted this to be over. These ones were always the worst. The ones where Not-Sam cared. Because Sam didn’t care. There’s no way he cared. Not after everything Gabriel had done.

 

Things went on this way for two weeks. Sam would see Dean only at meals, and even then it was unreasonably tense. It was like the apocalypse all over again.

A few days later, Sam was sitting in his room with a nearly dead archangel. It was silent, dead silent, scary silent, for a long while, until Sam heard heavy footsteps pass by the door. And then pass by again. And again. Someone was pacing, and Sam was pretty sure he knew who it was.

He stood slowly, gathering his thoughts that had previously been scattered all over the place, and crossed to the door. He let it swing open, and there stood his older brother.

“Yes, Dean?” He asked, keeping his voice level and quiet, even though he was 99.3% positive he could bang pots and pans next to Gabriel’s ears and he wouldn’t wake up.

Dean, not having expected to be discovered, ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, hey, Sam,” he mumbled half-heartedly, seemingly trying to act like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I heard you pacing, can I help you with something?”

“Pacing? Me? No, I was just‒” Dean stopped whatever lie he was about to tell in favour of the truth. Shocking. “I don’t trust him, Sam. And it had been quiet for awhile so I. . . decided to come check on you, alright? Rip me a new one later if you want, right now I need a drink,” he said with a sigh, checking his pocket for his car keys.

“He’s comatose, what exactly do you think he’s going to do to me?” Sam asked, almost incredulous. “Lure me in with his lack of snoring?”

“I just‒I don’t know, alright?” Dean said, raising his hands in surrender. “It's just. . . all he’s ever done is try to screw us over. Play our roles and all that crap. What makes this any different? Who knows, what if this is just another trick? How can we trust him?”

Sam sighed. “You have a good point. But God is literally on our side on this one. Don’t you think, if this was a trick, God would know? Don’t you think he’d warn us?”

“I dunno, I don’t exactly trust him either.”

“Well I do, Dean. And even if I didn’t, there’s not much to be done about it now. I think he’d notice if we smuggled an archangel out of here. Plus, Gabriel’s not exactly a threat right now. He’s got his eyes open but I don’t think he can do anything,” Sam huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.

“He’s awake?! Really?! How long were you planning on keeping that a secret?” Dean roared, throwing his hands in the air.

“What the hell are you trying to say, Dean? That I’m, what, conspiring with the person in a coma? Are you insane?”

“No! I just‒That would’ve been a nice tidbit to share with the class!”

“Oooooh, brotherly drama! How… quaint... “ a voice said from behind Sam, and he tensed up, eyes looking straight ahead.

“Fuck off, Lucifer,” Dean growled, narrowing his eyes.

“Am I not allowed to be concerned for my little brother?” Satan asked, placing a hand on his chest and raising his eyebrows.

“After you stabbed him in the heart? No,” Sam said, narrowing his eyes.

“Ooh, does someone have a crush on the trickster?”

“Leave, Lucifer,” Dean said with a sense of finality. Lucifer put up his hands and backed up.

“Oooookay. Whatever you say. I was just going to offer my… assistance. I do have some juice, after all.

“You can heal him?” Sam asked quietly, not making eye contact but holding himself up his full 6’4.

“The old noodle? No. But physically? Yup. Easy as pie,” the Devil said casually.

“And why should we trust you?” Dean asked, crossing his arms.

“You shouldn't! Buuuut, I can fix Sam's boy toy, archangels’ honor.”

Sam met Lucifer’s eye and nodded, whispering, “Do it.”

“What? No! Sam! This is‒this is Lucifer! Actual Satan! The Devil!” Dean yelled, but Sam stood his ground and Lucifer grinned.

“What’s the price?”

“Price? Eh, let’s just say you’ll owe me.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay then… you have to swear to me that when the time comes you will whatever it takes to stop Amara,” Satan said, looking Sam dead in the eye.

Sam could see Dean giving him a warning look, but he nodded. “Okay. He’s in my room. Dean and I are both going in there with you.”

Dean didn’t say a word aloud, but the look on his face said everything. Why the hell did you agree to that? You know that’s going to bite you in the ass.

Rather than trying to reply, Sam simply shook his head minutely, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment.

Lucifer rolled his eyes at the pair of them. “How about you two stop wallowing in your man pain and go inside, then?”

Sam sighed, but he looked at Dean and jerked his head in the direction of his room. He wordlessly set off in that direction, Lucifer following behind.

Dean groaned, but tailed behind Lucifer. Couldn’t let the fallen angel out of their sight.

 

Gabriel started screaming. Sam supposed it wasn’t that weird of a response considering that Lucifer was the one to kill Gabriel in the first place. There had been a time, many times, when Sam also would have started screaming at the sight of Lucifer. Sometimes he had actually started screaming, and Lucifer had never even killed him. However, as Sam had learned throughout his life, a perfectly rational explanation didn’t make something any less terrifying.

“NO! NO! STOP! GO AWAY! PLEASE! NO!” Gabriel’s voice was hoarse and scratchy and broke as it got louder. It took all of Sam’s will power to stare straight ahead and let Lucifer do his work.

When the Devil laid a hand on Gabriel’s forehead it stopped being English and dissolved into what Sam could only guess was Enochian, and before long it wasn’t even words, just high pitched noise.

Lucifer seemed unfazed.

It lasted 20 minutes. Twenty minutes of screams and cries. Twenty minutes before Satan pulled back and said, “That’s all I can do.” Without another word, he left, and immediately the shouting stopped.

Gabriel went back to the same position he was in before the Devil did his healing, eyes open and unmoving.

“I need a drink,” Dean said, looking as if he’d aged 30 years. Sam nodded and fell into his chair, rubbing his face.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said once Dean had left, “But you needed to be healed, and that was the best way to do it. I swear I wouldn’t have let him hurt you. I know what it's like.”

Gabriel took a breath and nodded before going back to his statue-esque state.

 

After a while, Sam couldn't stand it any longer. He didn't know how long it had been since that nod, but it felt like he’d been sitting here for about seven thousand years. He wasn't even the catatonic one, and he was going stir crazy. He needed to get out of this room. He needed to move, go for a run, drink, something. Going for a run was probably the healthier of the two options, however, a drink was closer, and much much easier.

Ten minutes later he had a rum and coke in hand, and he wanted the dramatics of sitting heavily in a chair, but his desperate need to not sit won out on that one. So instead, he took to wandering the library. He wasn't in the mood to sit down and look through books—though he knew he should be researching something to help Gabriel—so instead, he found himself reading the titles. It was a little odd, finding something that basically translated as “Exorcisms 101”, right next to a book on the War of 1812, but he figured the Men of Letters must of had a system of cataloging their books. He just hadn't figured it out yet.

He hated this. Gabriel was in his room, comatose, and Sam couldn't do a damn thing about it. Instead, he was wandering, wondering if the Men of Letters had ever heard of the Dewey Decimal System. It was ridiculous.

After about 45 minutes of this Sam groaned and poured himself another drink before retreating back to his room where Gabriel was‒shocker‒in the same spot as he’d left him. Sam was about to say fuck it, there was nothing to be done about it, when Gabriel turned to look at him.

“Sam?” he asked quietly, his voice even worse than earlier. Sam immediately rushed to sit at his side.

“Gabriel?” he asked, looking Gabriel over.

“Yes,” Gabriel replied simply.

“You’re… coherent…”

“Yes.”

“Can you sit up?”

Apparently he could, because a moment later they were eye to eye.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat and he didn't know how to react. He didn't know what to do. Gabriel was awake, and alert and responding and… moving. He hadn't said anything besides ‘yes’, but that was better than nothing.

“Do you feel‒Are you okay?” Sam asked, doing a one over of Gabriel. He was in one of Sam’s shirts and a pair of sweatpants, and he was practically swimming in fabric. It was… a little bit adorable.

“I am physically,” Gabriel said without any inflection or emotion, like he was on factory angel settings or something.

“And… mentally?”

“I can’t decide if this is real or not, but there’s nothing Metatron could do that he hasn’t already, so I’ve decided to go along with this scenario.”

That certainly wasn’t comforting.

“Gabriel… I know what you’re going through. I went through something similar a few years ago. I promise, everything here is real,” Sam explained.

“But you’d say that even if it wasn’t, wouldn't you, Sam?”

Sam swallowed and looked away. “Gabriel, I can't exactly do much here to prove it,” he sighed.

“I know. Which is why I'm deciding to believe what you're saying,” Gabriel replied, but there was something different about the way he said it. Something that suggested he didn't actually believe it as much as he said.

“Great!” Sam said anyway, “I'll go get Dean and‒”

“No!” Gabriel barked, a flickered of what might have been an emotion crossing his face.

“What?! You-you want me to keep the fact that you're up from Dean?! Really?!”

“Yes.”

“I can't do that! I can't lie to him like that! He's my brother.”

“Doesn't seem to have stopped you in the past,” Gabriel quipped, almost seeming like his old self, but Sam was too pissed to notice.

“Look, I get it, my brother and I don't have the most healthy relationship, but could you please put yourself in my shoes? Keeping a secret like this from my big brother? You know how pissed he'd‒”

“Sam, I basically invented those shoes, so don't you give me any of that when my older brother, the one who killed me is just down the hall.”

That gave Sam pause, knowing he couldn't fight that one. “What are you gonna do? Hide out in here forever?” He asked, exasperated.

“If that's what it takes. I'm not going to deal with Dean right now,” Gabe said, his voice and eyes hard.

“You deal with me.”

“That's different, Sam, and you know it.”

Sam couldn't argue with that. “Alright. Fine. I won't tell him.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel replied, relaxing against the headboard of the bed, though looking only vaguely less tense than he had while sitting bolt upright.

“So, what now? We just sit around and wait for you to heal?” Sam asked incredulously.

“I mean, you could tell me about where you are against Amara right now,” Gabriel said, again falling into that programmed angel role that gave Sam a bad feeling in his gut.

“Well, we’ve got you, your father, and, um, Lucifer along with Rowena and Crowley. I think the overall plan so far has been you and Lucifer damaging Amara enough so that Chuck can shove her back in the box,” Sam explained.

“Chuck?”

“Oh. God.”  
“That’s oddly simple for my father. And, to your point, it’s going to take a lot more than just Lucifer and I to weaken the Darkness enough to get her back into her cage. Last time it took all four archangels,” Gabriel replied, and Sam couldn’t help but notice the flinching at the Devil’s name, just like how he couldn’t help but notice the dull look behind Gabriel’s eyes, like he still wasn’t all there.

And he wasn’t. Sam could tell. Whether it be his own choice, to defend himself, or whether it was because of the level of trauma Gabriel had been through, he wasn’t all there.

“Gabriel, are you sure you’re okay?” Sam asked.

“Sam, I’m nowhere near okay. But I am one of the generals of heaven, and I do know about the Darkness, and I am willing to talk, so let’s try and keep the world from ending, okay?” Gabriel replied, and Sam could hear some of the old Gabriel‒the normal Gabriel‒in his voice. But he could also hear the pain and the effort it was taking Gabriel to even do this, so Sam stopped pushing and let Gabriel speak.

 

Sam came out of that conversation knowing way more about the Darkness than he had going into it.

“Dean?” he called as he walked through the bunker halls, trying to figure out the best way to tell his brother what he’d learned from Gabriel without mentioning his actual talk with Gabriel.

Dean’s reply was muffled through walls and space but Sam still understood the yell of, “My room!” He walked in to find Dean sprawled out on his bed, a few bottles of beer on his bedside table, and listening to music with the iPod Sam had given him.

“Hey, so get this, I had an idea‒”

“Really, Sammy?” Dean asked, sitting up and pulling off his headphones.

“What do you mean, really?”

“We’re not going to talk about how we just witnessed the-the psychotic meltdown of one of heaven’s most powerful weapons?”

“Um, no? Why would we?”

“I dunno. You’re the one who's been wanting to talk about ‘feelings’,” Dean said with a huff.

“It happened, he’s better now, we both had a drink, there’s really nothing more to talk about. Now, about my idea,” Sam said, sidestepping the topic entirely; Dean raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion.

“Well, she’s the Darkness, right? So her obvious weakness is light. Maybe if we use enough light we would, like, destroy her,” Sam explained.

“What are you suggesting, Sammy? That we shine a flashlight on her?”

“No, I’m talking, like, every star in the galaxy levels of light.”

“Well, that’ll be soooo easy. A regular walk in the park!”

“Dean…”

“Really? That’s your idea? Shine every star in the goddamn galaxy at her? How would we even do that?”

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. “Dean, we have God. Capital G God. Yahweh. Allah. The Great I Am. Alpha And Omega. He’s on our side on this one!” he said.

“Yeah, okay, and even if he agreed to this, wouldn’t, like, a hundred billion stars all shining at earth destroy the whole planet? I mean, I’m no Einstein, but that sounds like it’d deep fry pretty much everything,” Dean said, throwing a pointed look Sam’s way.

“Then we don’t use stars, or we find some way to contain it.”

“Contain it, sure. Plus, what else has the same power as a shit ton of stars?” Dean asked.

“Souls,” Sam replied confidently.

“Souls?! Really? Are you out of your mind? Amara feeds off of souls, and you wanna blast her with enough to equal the whole fucking galaxy?!”

“Dean, please, just hear me out‒”

“You know, I think Gabriel’s crazy is rubbing off on you, Sammy.”

“Dean‒”

“I mean, damn! She-she’d go Super Saiyan!”

“What-what does that even mean? And it’s better than sitting around here, just waiting for her to do more damage!” Sam shouted.

“Which is why we’ve got fucking Satan, and God, as you’ve so helpfully kept pointing out! We’re trying, Sam, but shooting her with the stuff that makes her stronger? That’s insane! Sammy, I know you’re trying to help‒” Sam cut Dean off.

“Yes I’m trying to help! I’m the one who let her out!”

“But sometimes you’ve gotta admit, some things are just out of our ballpark,” Dean ended, standing up and looking Sam in the eye. Sam kind of deflated, his shoulders slouching.

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning to leave the room.

“Sammy, wait. You look like you haven’t eaten in days. What do you say we go get you some of that fru fru rabbit shit you love so much and have a night off. Sound good?” Dean asked, clearly concerned for his little brother.

“Yeah, actually. That sounds great,” Sam admitted. Dean nodded quickly and grabbed his jacket off the chair next to his bed.

“Then let’s go.”

 

Sam would be lying if he said he didn't feel better after some real food and couple drinks with his brother.

He'd also be lying if he said he wasn't surprised by Gabriel being in the exact same spot he'd left him in a few hours ago.

“How did your discussion with Dean go?” Gabriel asked the second Sam stepped into his room.

“Same way most conversations with Dean go. What'd you do while I was out?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel replied simply, watching Sam from his position on the bed.

“Nothing? Really?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just thought that now that you're free and healed and stuff you'd be, I dunno, handing out just desserts or something,” Sam said with a shrug.

Gabriel blinked and for a second an emotion that Sam thought looked a bit like longing danced across his features. Then it was gone and the robotic look Gabriel had adopted was back.

“There is no time for trickster nonsense while the Darkness is free,” he said, his voice hard and flat. Sam decided he hated it.

“Okay then… you know this whole thing would be a lot easier if it was you talking to people,” Sam said cautiously, taking a spot next to Gabriel on the bed.

“No.”

Gabriel's reply was harsh and fast, and the look in his eyes was clear. He wasn't going to do it.

“Okay. Fine. Can you at least help me with research? There's gotta be something out there,” Sam said, running a hand through his hair.

He wondered how it would feel if it was Gabriel's hand instead.

Noooooo. No. He was not going there. Not this time. Not again. Just because he'd been just a little bit attracted to the janitor at Crawford Hall didn't mean he had to start having these thoughts about Gabriel.

“Of course,” Gabriel replied, his voice pulling Sam from his thoughts.

Sam nodded and got his laptop and a couple books from his desk. He propped the computer up on his knee and handed the books to Gabriel. “I think they're Enochian. Could you translate?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks,” Sam said, looking over Gabriel again. His eyes were still clouded over.

 

Sam couldn’t take it. The last month had gone by the same. Wake up, eat breakfast, research, eat lunch, research, talk to Dean, eat dinner, try not to bring up Gabriel, research, go to bed. Occasionally they would find a hunt, but it seemed even the monsters were laying low. It was an endless cycle.

Gabriel had long since finished translating the entire collection of Enochian books the Men of Letters had, but could Sam share that information with anyone? Nope.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was just as angelic as ever, and it was pissing Sam off. After a hunt he’d ask Sam if he was okay, he’d say hello, yes, no, good morning and goodnight, but close to nothing else.

But there were exceptions.

After one particular hunt where Dean had done something unusually rash and stupid, even for him, Sam had muttered, “Please just stick him back in Dr. Sexy.” Gabriel had smiled, honest to God smiled.

“Your brother did always make cavemen look intelligent,” he mumbled under his breath before going back to the dust covered book he’d been reading.

That one sentence had been the best part of Sam’s whole day.

After that, Sam had become obsessed with getting the real Gabriel back.

One morning he’d brought some pancakes back to his room, covered in maple and chocolate syrup. The sight of it was enough to make Sam gag, but Gabriel’s lips had quirked up at it.

Sam would bring back Twix and Snickers and Dum Dums and Twizzlers, offering them to the archangel and grinning at the small smirk that they brought to Gabriel’s face.

He’d recount tales of prank wars with Dean, of the legendary Nair in the Shampoo incident, and the Supergluing of Dean’s Hand to a Beer Bottle. Each one would bring a little bit of the familiar twinkle back to Gabriel’s eyes.

Each of these moments left Sam reeling, trying to get control of his emotions. Trying to deny what he felt.

As if pure effort could help him succeed.

 

Gabriel didn’t know what to think. On one hand, every passing day with Sam felt more real, but on the other, he could barely afford to let his guard down.

But damn, was it hard.

The fog in his mind was clearing a little with each day, though there were moments when he would be flung back to that room, to Metatron’s sneer as he was poked and prodded with an archangel’s blade.

And Sam, or Not-Sam, damn him, wasn’t making things any easier. He felt so real. So alive. At night when he would lay under the blankets, an arm curled under his pillow and the worry on his face finally melting, Gabriel could almost swear what was going on was genuine.

But then that voice, the one in the back of his head, the one that had kept him alive for the past two years, would scream at him, telling him that obviously this was a trick, everything was a trick! Nothing was real, and Metatron was just playing him like a fiddle. The flashbacks, the aches from wounds that’d been healed, the worry and guilt, it would all flood back in a single horrific moment, and Gabriel would throw his defenses back up.

If he didn’t crack, if there were no chinks in his armor, then no one could hurt him. No one at all.

Not even Metatron.

Not even Sam.

 

“You need to get out of this room,” Sam said one day, about a month and a half since Gabriel had woken up. They’d made little progress with the Darkness, and the Darkness seemed to be holding back.

“What do you mean?” Gabriel asked, putting down his book.

“You’ve been in here for two months, Gabriel. It’s time to come out,” Sam said sternly, and Gabriel scowled.

“I’m not meeting your brother, or my brother, or my father,” he said.

“Okay. You don’t have to. You do have to get out of here.”

“What, you need some alone time?” Gabriel asked, and Sam had to fight the smile that the simple, incredibly Gabriel-esque, phrase almost brought to his lips.

“No, but you need to go out into the world. I’m getting cabin fever just looking at you,” he said, crossing his arms.

“I won’t go alone.”

“Okay then. I’ll come with you.”

“What are we suggesting we do, Sam? Get coffee and discuss the end of the world?” Gabriel asked, and Sam glared at him.

“No, I’m suggesting we take a walk. You don’t even have to interact with other people,” Sam said.

“And if I say no?”

“I can’t make you, but I can stop smuggling you dessert.”

“Bastard.”

And so they waited until everyone else was occupied and left the bunker.

Gabriel had to admit, it was nice out. It had just rained, and the smell of petrichor was fresh in the air. Every few minutes or so Sam would say something along the lines of, ‘So get this, this plant/animal/rock is called a ______ and it can do _______’, as if Gabriel didn’t know that already. It was… endearing, to say the least.

Sam, on the other hand, was watching Gabriel the whole time. His eyes traced every angle of the archangels face, seeing how he was doing, trying to decipher the emotions in his eyes.

No such luck.

After about 30 minutes they turned around and headed back. As they did it began to sprinkle again, and the sun shone through the raindrops, casting a rainbow in the sky.

Gabriel laughed. Laughed. High and loud and clear, his voice breaking the compatible silence. He laughed so hard he doubled over, his hair falling in his face. When he righted himself, cheeks pink, and brushed the hair from his eyes, Sam could swear he felt the air being knocked out of him.

Gabriel was beautiful, and Sam was so, so gone.

“You okay, kiddo?” Gabriel asked, the pet name falling from his lips before he could stop himself.

“Y-yeah, why?” Sam stammered, his cheeks turning just the slightest shade of pink.

“Was that planet you were visiting pretty? Stop zoning out. Chop chop, we don’t want your lousy human immune system to short circuit and you end up with the plague,” Gabriel replied.

“Uh, yeah, you’re probably right,” he said, before nodding quickly and beginning to jog back towards the bunker, reveling in the feel of raindrops on his skin.

Gabriel watched as Sam picked up his pace, his hair damp and a peaceful look on his face. He knew he was massively screwed. Gabriel couldn’t let himself fall, however tempting it was. He’d already accepted that this was at least 97.5643122% real and, unlike Batman, he didn’t act on one percents. Or 2.4356878%’s. Even so, there was too much risk in letting himself get (more) emotionally attached to Sam, and Gabriel did nothing if not avoid risk.

He was too much of a coward to do anything else.

 

After that, walks became a usual thing. Any time Sam felt he and Gabriel could slip away, they did. Slowly Sam watched as Gabriel fell into his old self, cracking jokes and making snide remarks as easily as breathing.

Gabriel watched as he failed to keep himself from falling for Sam. Every step down a worn path was a step further into this… pit of Sam. Every sneaky trip through the Bunker halls was a sneaky trip Sam took to his heart.

Not to say there weren't bad days. No, there were days when the mantra of not real not real all a trick not Sam not real in his head was the only thing he could hear. Days when he could swear he could feel the angel blade sinking into his skin, not powerful enough to kill, but powerful enough to make Gabriel wish he was dead. On those days he would sit up straight on the bed or in a chair, unblinking and unbreathing.

And fuck if those days didn’t terrify Sam.

But those days happened less and less, until one day Sam finally said, “We should tell them.”

“Tell them what, Samsquatch?” Gabriel asked casually, the nickname having become a normal thing a week or so back.

“That you’re, you know… better,” Sam replied, his eyes darting around the room, seeing everything but the archangel.

Gabriel immediately tensed up. “You want me to what now?”

“Tell Dean and your, uh, family that you’re, you know, mentally sound. Mostly.”

“What, getting sick of our time together, Sam-a-lam?” Gabriel quipped, but Sam had gotten better at reading his emotions. Even if he hadn’t, he’d recognize that look of pure horror anywhere. He’d worn it himself.

“Gabriel, stop. You know it's not that. If you’re okay then we can keep working on defeating Amara. She’s stayed low for now, but it’s been a few months. She’s got to be planning something,” Sam said.

“Sam… I’m not ready,” Gabriel said, hoping Sam would get it.

“And you think I am?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes, and Gabriel could tell he was getting angry.

“Sam, please…”

“You think it’s easy for me to see Lucifer everyday? After the nightmares, the hallucinations, the fucking cage? And yet here I am, fighting the good fight! Gabe, there are some things that are just bigger than us and what we’re ready for,” Sam shouted, his nostrils flaring and chest heaving.

Gabriel was so taken back and abashed that he didn’t even notice the change in his name.

The look of fear and hurt on Gabriel’s face must’ve got to Sam because a moment later he ran a hand over his face and muttered, “Gabriel…”

“No no, I read you loud and clear, Sam. You’re right. This is bigger than me. In fact, I’d say it’s too big for me. So you know what? Screw it,” Gabriel snarled before snapping his fingers and disappearing. Sam threw a pillow and screamed.

“Sammy?!” Dean yelled from somewhere in the bunker, and a moment later he was crashing through Sam's door. Upon seeing his little brother sitting on an empty bed, alone, with his head in his hands, he asked, “Where’s Gabriel?”

Sam laughed darkly. “He’s gone,” he said simply.

“Gone?”

“Yes, Dean, gone.”

“Well how’d he manage that? Last time I saw him, he was a freaking coma patient!” Dean said.

Sam laughed again and ran a hand through his hair. “He’s been awake for a couple months now, Dean.”

“WHAT?!” Dean yelled.

“Gabriel’s been awake for a while,” Sam stated, completely nonchalant.

“And you didn’t tell me?!” Dean asked, standing and pointing at his brother.

“No.”

“Care to explain that, 007?”

“He didn’t want me to say. He wasn’t ready to deal with you yet,” Sam shrugged.

“Does anyone know? Was I the only one out of the loop?” Dean asked, the anger just below the surface of his voice. Sam shook his head.

“We didn’t tell anyone, but I’d guess Chuck knows. Him being the all knowing God and all.”

“Fuck, Sam! So instead of telling me the truth, being honest, trusting your brother, you go with the monster?! Again?! After Ruby?! Damnit, Sam, don’t you ever learn?!” Dean exploded, unable to hold it all back.

Sam stood up and glared at his brother, towering over him in a way he usually tried to avoid. “Shut. The hell. Up,” he snarled, “This was nothing like that! We-we weren’t planning anything! He just didn’t want you to know! And you know what? I see why!”

Dean looked ready to swing a punch. “Well it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You went and lost the fucking archangel!” he yelled.

“Lost him?! You think this is my fault?”

“Obviously! I mean, apparently you were butt buddies before, and no one else knew about it, so it must’ve been you!”

“Or maybe he’s just a coward!”

“Either way, you didn’t tell m-us about him, and now he’s gone. We’re down an ally, Amara is bidding her sweet ol’ time, and fucking Satan is wearing my best friend like a prom dress!”

“And none of those things are my fault, Dean! But do you care? No! You just care about all the times I’ve fucked up! Oh, and by the way, you think you give me shit for those things? You’ve got nothing on what I’ve been telling myself, every day, for ten goddamn years. So you know what? Get out. Get the hell out.” Sam was breathless and red in the face by the time he was done, his chest heaving as he watched his older brother storm out of his bedroom.

 

Gabriel didn’t exactly know where he was. There used to be snow and goats around, but that was before he had, let’s say, released his anger. Now he was standing in the middle of a land of ash and embers, burnt shrubbery and charred boulders surrounding him. There was still snow on some of the higher peaks, having been missed in the wave of heat and flame.

Gabriel took a minute to compose himself and realized he was in the middle of the Himalayas, hundreds of miles away from the nearest civilization. Apparently his Grace understood he needed to be away from pesky humans right now.

Humans like Sam.

He'd told Sam he wasn't ready to deal with his family. He'd told him. Gabriel wasn't delusional (at least, not right now). He knew his father knew he was awake. But did that mean he was ready to talk to him? To talk to the being who'd abandoned him all those centuries ago?  
Nope.

So Gabriel did what he was good at. He ran. So why, despite all of this wonderful reasoning, did he feel so guilty? Sam had known, damnit, and he’d pushed him! This was not Gabriel’s fault! So why did he feel like such shit.

A little bitty voice in the back of his head said it was because flying off like that was a dick move and had most likely hurt Sam’s feelings. Gabriel quickly told that voice to kindly fuck off, thanks.

He did not care about what some obnoxiously tall hunter with the hair of a Disney princess felt. He didn’t! At all.

Who the fuck was he kidding. He totally cared. He cared a lot, but he was a stubborn ass, and actually acting on those emotions? That was too much for him, thank you very much.

So Gabriel sat on a blackened rock and snapped himself up a bag of sour gummi worms. He knew he couldn’t just hide out forever. His aunt needed to be dealt with, and for that to happen he had to go back, however much he disliked it.

He just didn’t know if he could do it. Work with the brother who’d raised him, loved him, taught him to fly, and killed him? Help the father who’d left him, hurt and lost and miserable and so alone? Who’d let him run away? He didn’t think he could.

But he couldn’t abandon Sam. Or Castiel, for that matter. The little angel that could had always been one of Gabriel’s favorite little siblings, and letting him be worn and abused by Lucifer was something that made Gabriel’s stomach turn just thinking about it. So he had to return. He had to.

But maybe not just yet.

 

How could Gabriel do this? He was supposed to help. Last time God boxed away the Darkness, it had taken all four of the Archangels at full power to defeat her, to weaken her enough that Chuck could trap her with the Mark. Now they were down to one, and there was no way they could take her down. It was a long shot even with Gabriel to help, and now he had run off. Again.

What happened to the bravery Sam had seen at Elysian Fields? What happened to the angelic strength and power Gabriel had shown when he had stood up to his brother, fought the good fight? He had recognized that some things were bigger than us‒even bigger than an archangel. Now, once again, the world was at stake, and Gabriel was running away, and Sam could only hope that Gabriel would find that courage again. He could only pray that the Gabriel he knew would break Metatron’s hold and return to him‒to them.

Pray. He could pray.

Sam’s eyes widened in realization of his last resort, the only plan he could come up with besides sitting and waiting and hoping.

He didn’t know if it would work. But he could try.

 

Gabriel. . . .

I-I don’t know if you’re listening, I don’t know if you’re willing to. I don’t know if you can. This might be falling on deaf ears, or no ears at all but I had to try. I had to do something. I’m not going to apologise for what I said, but I will apologize for the way I said it, and when. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I talked to Dean, and you were right. I understand why you didn’t want to tell him. You’re not ready, and I shouldn’t try to make you.

But still. . . come back. Please. We need you. I need you. The real you. The you that showed up in that hotel and stood up to your brother. The one that saved Kali, and Dean, and me. The one that fought Lucifer and almost died for the cause, for no other reason than because you knew it was the right thing to do. Come back. Please. Stand up to him again. Do it for you, because I know you can. Do it for all of the people who will die if you don’t. For the world, that will end without you. And if nothing else. . . do it for me.

 

Gabriel was speechless. Sam… was praying… to him. Directly. Not some ‘anyone who's listening’, no, this was for Gabriel and Gabriel alone.

The kid wanted him to come back, to face Lucifer, for him. Not because it was ‘the right thing to do’‒well, kinda because it was ‘the right thing to do’‒but come back because Sam wanted him to. He expected Gabriel to fly right back because he asked. Pfffft. As if Gabriel’s decisions could be dictated by the whims of a mere mortal.

Except they totally could be.

“Fuck,” Gabriel muttered. He really had no spine when it came to Sam. With a sigh and a snap of his fingers, he was back in the bunker.

 

Sam hadn’t expected the response to be so quick, but not five minutes after he’d sent up the prayer Gabriel was sitting in the chair in front of him.

“So,” the archangel started, “You want me to become BFFs with the dickbag who killed me? Really, Sam-a-lam?”

“Sammich? Kiddo? Helllooooo, is anyone home?” Gabriel asked, knocking on Sam’s forehead.

“You came back.”

“Well duh. I thought that much was obvious.”

“I, uh, didn’t think you would,” Sam admitted. Gabriel sighed and leaned back into the chair, crossing his ankles and slinging an arm behind him.

“To be honest, I wasn’t going to. But then, then you called my private number instead of the party line and, well… here I am,” Gabriel lied. He was always going to come back. Sam’s prayer had just sped up the process. “So, you told Dean?”

“Yeah. Look, I’m sorry, but he came in and you were gone and I had to tell him,” Sam explained.

“And, let me guess, Dean-o didn’t take the news so well,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes. Sam huffed.

“That’s an understatement. Went off about how it was just like Ruby all over again,” he said, looking down so that his hair fell in a curtain around his face.

Gabriel frowned. He didn’t like the look on Sam’s face, of the way he was hiding said face. He tried to tell himself that he had no business caring this much about Sam’s face, but he had never been very good at convincing himself of anything. And so, of course, Gabriel had to put his two cents in. Dammit, why couldn’t he keep his stupid mouth shut?

“You know, I’m a little offended that I’m being compared to that bitch. I’m not gonna use you, Sam.” Oops. That sounded a bit too sincere. “Well. Should we go find Dean and tell him I’m awake and I’m back?” He asked, doing a total 180 in the demeanor department. He stood up, rolling his shoulders‒he was really shaking out his wings, which were feeling a little stiff from being confined for so long, but Sam couldn’t see that.

Sam looked up, and it was absolutely not fair that an fucking giant could look so small and cute, but there was no way Gabriel was about to say that aloud. “Are you sure?” Sam asked, and Gabriel wasn’t but of course, he still said;

“Hells yeah, I am.”

Sam nodded and got up to leave the room, opening the door for Gabriel. “So, are we going to tell, um, Lucifer and Chuck that you’re back?” he asked.

Gabriel took a deep breath and nodded in affirmation. “I’d only be putting off the inevitable. And besides, some things are bigger than us, eh, Sammy?” he said, forcing a smile and trying to hide just how much he dreading seeing his family.

“Yeah, yeah they are,” Sam agreed, heading off to the library.

“But could we maybe, uh, tell them separately? I mean, tell my father and brother first, and then tell Dean? I’m just worried what would happen with them all in the same room when a bomb like, well, me is dropped,” Gabriel asked, trying to be light hearted.

“Oh, yeah, yeah of course. I’ll go get Chuck and L-Lucifer. Just wait here,” Sam said, trying to seem as reassuring as possible.

Gabriel took notice over the way Sam stumbled over Lucifer’s name, like it was hard to say. Maybe the kid wasn’t holding up as well as he was letting on. After all, he had mentioned it being difficult to be around Gabriel’s brother, and Gabriel couldn’t blame him.

Sam turned and went down another hall, leaving Gabriel in the library, The archangel took a seat in one of the chairs, his feet propped up on the table. If he was going to be faced with the people he feared most, he was going to do it in comfort, damnit!

A few minutes later, Sam returned, Lucifer and Chuck in tow.

“Father…”

The words were quiet and weak as Gabriel stared at the being who had created him. Chuck smiled at his youngest archangel. “Gabriel.”

A moment later God was nearly pushed to the ground by the force of the hug he was being given. And then, as quickly as it had happened, it stopped. “You abandoned us,” Gabriel accused, a hurt look crossing his face.

“I do believe you had long since joined the pagans when I left, Gabriel,” Chuck replied.

“Then you abandoned them.”

“And so did you.”

“Because-because I had to! The fighting, it was driving me insane!” Gabriel cried. Sam looked away, feeling like this wasn’t something he should be watching.

“You made your choice, just like I made mine,” Chuck said calmly.

Gabriel looked like he was about to argue when Lucifer interrupted. “Now I’d hate to break apart this touching Hallmark moment, but is this really what we need to be talking about?” he sneered, putting his hands between Chuck and Gabriel, pushing them apart. “He's alive and well,” he said, gesturing to Gabriel, “He abandoned us because he was sick of us and apparently he's done nothing wrong,” he concluded, gesturing—this time rudely—at Chuck. “Let's move on.”

Gabriel glared older brother, his hands tightening into fists. He had every right to be angry with him, and he was.He was livid. Lucifer was the reason they were in this position. Lucifer was the one that killed him. Lucifer had done awful things to people, people like Sam. Lucifer managed to make Sam‒one of the bravest men Gabriel had ever known‒flinch away in fear. Gabriel should hate him.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

No matter what, Lucifer was his big brother, the one who’d raised him, who’d cared for him.

Gabriel loved him.

Chuck cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over the group of them. “I’m glad you’re back, Gabriel,” he said, with a small nod, and that may have been the closest to an ‘I’m proud of you, son’ that Gabriel had ever gotten. His feathers ruffled at the praise, which earned a disapproving look from Lucifer, and Gabriel immediately straightened up.

“So,” Sam cut in, now that he felt the majority of the sentiment was over, “Should I go get Dean? So we can start planning how to defeat Amara?”

Lucifer moved to answer, but Gabriel spoke first. “Yeah, go get the Grand Muttonhead Supreme,” he said, taking a step between Sam and Lucifer with his back to the Devil. A dangerous move, and Gabriel’s face showed he understood that.

Sam nodded and rushed off to get Dean.

“Why Gabriel! Have you developed feelings for little Sammy Winchester?” Lucifer asked, trying to hide the jealousy and anger in his voice, but failing.

“Fuck off, Lucifer,” Gabriel growled, still not turning to face his brother.

“Oh, don't get your feathers in a twist,” Lucifer said, and Gabriel couldn't see him but he knew his older brother was rolling his eyes and watching him with disdain. “Come on. It’s painful to watch. You've never been very good at hiding your feelings, little brother.”

Gabe slowly pivoted to face Lucifer, unable to control the almost hurt look that flashed across his face—which, of course, merely proved Lucifer’s point. He quickly steeled his expression, but his brother always had been able to read him like an open book.

“Oh, did I strike a nerve there? I just don't want to see my baby brother get hurt. You didn't think that Sam Winchester would actually feel anything but hatred for you? You're just another dickhead angel to him—”

“You shut up,” Gabriel growled, planting his feet and leaning forward, his wings spread to balance him. “You don't know anything about him—”

“Both of you, stop it!” Chuck stepped in between the two archangels, both of which were assuming fighting stances, and sighed. “That's enough. You two aren't fledglings anymore, this kind of behavior is unacceptable.”

The opposing archangels both stepped back when their father spoke down to them like that, each hanging their heads awkwardly. Neither had heard their father use that kind of tone in millennia, and Gabriel at least felt like he was a fledgling again—a fledgling that had done something wrong. One that had disappointed his father, and would never stop disappointing him.

Of course, this is the moment the Winchesters chose to walk into.

“What the hell?!” Dean demanded, sounding pissed off and confused. The human’s voice had the heavenly creatures snapping to attention.

“Hey, Dean-o. I'm awake, I’ve returned, so let's focus on the task at hand,” Gabriel said, breaking the awkward silence with an equally awkward statement, and this was all just generally unpleasant. Dad-dammit.

“You—you disappeared. And then you came back. And also, you've been hiding out in Sam’s room this whole time? You could have been helping!”

“Actually, I was pretty, ya know, insane for most of that. Wouldn't have been much good,” Gabriel quipped, and Sam glared at him.

“That's another thing! What the hell was up with you, man?” Dean asked, gesturing over Gabriel.

“While, uh, while Metatron had me imprisoned, he'd give me hallucinations, I guess you would call them. I didn't exactly believe this whole scene was, well, real,” Gabriel said, shuffling awkwardly.

The room was quiet, like no one knew what to say. And, honestly, they didn't. So Gabriel did what he was best at, side of running. He talked.

“So, Luce, you comfy-cozy in little brother?” he asked, the disdain obvious in his voice.

“Don’t-don’t say it like that,” Dean said with a disgusted look on his face.

“What? Can't I check up on my brother?” Gabriel asked. To anyone else it would've sounded like he was concerned for Lucifer, but Chuck could see that all his worry was for Castiel.

“Gabriel. Now is not the time,” Chuck said, crossing his arms.

“Oh, it's not, is it? So we're gonna act like Lucifer isn't riding Cassie like a bicycle?”

“Gabriel! That's enough!”

Everyone was immediately taken back by Chuck's tone of voice, but Gabriel dropped the subject, instead seething through gritted teeth.

“So, you we mentioned planning? Earlier?” Sam said, trying to defuse the bomb that was God and two of his archangels.

“I mean, I had one, but Dean-o shot it down pretty quick,” Gabriel said, trying to relax.

“What plan?” Dean asked, wrinkling his nose.

“I believe Sammy pitched it to you as fighting Amara with soul power?”

Dean snarled, his hands balling into fists. “That was your idea?” he asked, taking a step closer to Gabriel.”

“Yup.”

“That was months ago! You've been awake this whole time?!” Dean yelled.

“Dean, please, just calm-”

“No! I won't! Damn it Sam, doesn't this seem wrong to you? He was awake for months, but didn't want to see anyone! Maybe you weren't plotting or whatever with him, but you can't say that doesn't sound sketchy to you!”

“No, Dean. It doesn’t. It sounds like he wasn’t ready to deal with his absent father, his brother that killed him, and this kind of attitude from you. He did all the help he could offer, and now he’s healed enough to really help with the real problem,” Sam defended, not exactly certain why he felt such fierce protectiveness towards the angel, but he did.

Gabriel could barely hold back the wide smile that threatened to split his face at Sam's words.

Lucifer, however, was unimpressed. “I would have expected better of you, Gabriel,” he said, eyebrows raised.

“What do you mean?” Gabriel demanded, getting a little pissed off (again) by his brother’s attitude.

“I mean that I thought you, off all people, would be all for dealing with these cockroaches. You are, if I remember correctly, on their side,” the Devil sneered.

A moment later Gabriel was at his throat, and God himself had to pull the youngest archangel away from his older brother.

“Did you ever regret it?” Gabriel asked, eyes dark as his father held him back.

“Did I ever regret being strong where you were weak? Did I ever regret having power? Did I ever regret squashing the ant that stood in my way? Oh, little brother,” the name was scoffed, a tone of revulsion coloring it, “if you have to ask then you must not know me very well.”

 

Sam found Gabriel on his bed, shoulders shaking as he cried.

“I thought‒I thought, maybe, he… cared. Somewhere in his Grace, I thought he might have some remorse. But he doesn’t. He stabbed me. I'm his brother and he stabbed me without a second thought,” Gabriel said from where his face was covered by his hands.

Sam sat down next to the archangel and awkwardly wrapped an arm around him. How weird was his life? Here he was, comforting the Holy Messenger, the being that announced the birth of Jesus. All this time he thought it would be the other way around.

Gabriel leaned into the touch, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry,” Sam said, not knowing what else to say, “Really, Gabe, I am. And I know that this isn’t helpful, but Lucifer is-”

“What?” Gabriel cut Sam off, turning to look up at him with confusion in his eyes.

“I was saying, Lucifer is just-”

“No no, before that. What did you call me?”

“Gabriel…”

“No you didn’t. You called me Gabe.” Gabriel was smiling, his dimples showing and eyes crinkling up in a way that had Sam fighting the urge to kiss the adorable bastard.

“I-I guess I did,” Sam said, scratching the back of his neck and blushing like he was a middle schooler again.

“I like it. No one’s called me Gabe before,” Gabriel replied, a childish delight in his eyes.

“Well okay then, Gabe,” Sam teased, rolling his eyes.

“Okie dokie, Samsquatch,” Gabe said, flashing a smile.

“We both have nicknames now, hm?” Sam raised his eyebrows, a smirk playing across his features.

“I suppose we do,” Gabriel said, trying to subtly curl back into Sam’s chest. Sam noticed, but he didn’t mind.

 

The next day all the residents of the bunker gathered together in the library. They were awkwardly edging around each other, none of them willing to mention what had happened the day before.

Then, when the amount of attempted small talk was almost too much for anyone to handle, Gabriel spoke. “Okay, are we gonna talk about how to kill Auntie Evil, or am I going to have to listen to Dad’s oh-so-interesting stories about folk songs for the next hour?” he asked, and Chuck narrowed his eyes and huffed. “No offense, Pops.”

Everyone around the table nodded, but no one really spoke up with an idea.

“Okay… I, uh, well… Gabriel had this idea,” Sam said, trying to break the barrier of awkward silence they all seemed trapped behind.

“Oh, yeah, you mean the one where we blast the soul eater with souls?” Dean asked, a ‘fuck that’ expression on his face.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “There's more finesse to it than that, Dean-o. You mud monkeys are 70% water, but you guys can still drown,” he said. That shut Dean up.

“So, would it be like a soul laser? Soul flood? Soul bomb?” Sam asked.

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner! Give the boy a prize!” Gabriel yelled, and Dean, Lucifer, and Chuck all narrowed their eyes at him.

“It's… not a bad plan. She could be weakened enough for me to force her back into her cage. The only problem would be sealing the cage once that's done,” Chuck replied after a moment.

“I'll take the mark,” Gabriel said, before Sam could get a word in. Gabe had know that Sam would offer if it came up, and he could not let that happen.

A moment passed and no one said and word. “What, no protests? No ‘Please don't, Gabriel, you're too awesome!’? Nothing?”

Silence. Everyone else looked away awkwardly, besides Lucifer, who smirked and said, “Well well well, I always knew you'd follow in my footsteps. Just thought it'd be sooner.”

Sam looked ready to throw a punch, and if this was anyone but Lucifer, he probably would have. However, since it was, in fact, the fallen Archangel Lucifer that pissed him off, he refrained, and instead presented a well thought out, articulate, beautifully constructed counter argument.

“No. I’ll take the Mark.”

Gabriel would have preferred the silence. So would’ve Dean.

“Fuck no!” he shouted.

“Why not?” Sam demanded, turning to his brother.

“Because‒no. Just no. I dealt with it before, I’ll take it this time,” was Dean’s brilliant suggestion.

“Nope. Nuh-uh,” Sam countered, shaking his head. “I’m not dealing with you going AWOL on me again. I’ll do it.”

“May I remind you two muttonheads that I’m an Archangel, and literally can not be turned into a demon by the Mark?” Gabriel added, rolling his eyes.

“It corrupted Lucifer, and we really don’t need another archangel going darkside on us,” Dean said with a groan.

Lucifer shrugged at that, declining to comment when he was glared at.

“Exactly. Perfect solution here, I’ll take the Mark!” Sam was becoming frustrated. What was there to argue about?

“Oh hell no! The Mark will screw you up too,” Gabriel said, shooting a concerned and exasperated glance at Sam.

“So what? It’s the best idea we’re going to come up with.” Sam said, as if all was said and done, no more arguing.

Dean didn’t agree. “I’ll tell you so what!” he shouted, seeming even more pissed off at the mere suggestion that there was nothing more to say. “We’ll figure something else out, alright?”

“No, we won’t! You know that's bullshit, Dean!” Sam shouted right back. “We have two out of three surviving archangels and God on our side, we have a plan, and every moment we waste, Amara is causing more destruction! We don’t have time to figure something else out. This is it. The eleventh hour. You’re already messed up from the Mark, the world can’t handle another devil-like fallen archangel, and it's not like we’re about to give Lucifer the damn thing.”

Dean was speechless, and no one else could come up with a valid argument.

“I’m taking the Mark. End of story.”

“No you are not! I am not-not letting my little brother take that-that thing!” Dean roared, standing up and slamming his hands down on the table.

Sam stood too, looming over his brother, shouting and yelling and suddenly Gabriel is taken back to a different fight, a different set of brothers, but it's all the same.

“Don't get your panties in a twist, Dean. Sam is my vessel after all.” Lucifer said, a leering grin on his face. “It's only natural that he and I are so alike.”

“You shut the fuck up! Sam is nothing like you!” Dean yelled, pointing to finger at the Devil.

And it's all too much for Gabriel. The shouting, the glares, all of it. “Stop,” he protested weakly, “Stop, Sam, please.”

“Well, he seems to be making a lot of the same choooooices,” Satan said, his smile growing wider.

“Be quiet, Lucifer!” Sam yelled, “I'm taking the Mark, but not because I'm anything like you. I'm taking it to help you all!”

“No you're not! I'm not letting you!” Dean said.

“Letting me?! You're not letting me?!”

“Please, please stop. Stop the fighting!” Gabriel said, his voice growing louder.

“Oooh, family drama! Sound familiar, little brother?” Lucifer smirked, obviously enjoying this.

“You don't let me do a damn thing, Dean!” Sam yelled.

“Stop stop stop stop!”

“I'm trying to help!”

“Yeah, well, you were trying to help with—”

“Whatever you're about to say, don't.”

“SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!” Gabriel screamed, waving his hands. The yelling stopped, but not because the Winchesters stopped trying.

Sam looked up, touching at his throat. He couldn't speak. He was trying, but no sound would come. And Gabriel was gone.

Luckily, the Winchester’s voices returned on the own, since Gabriel was still nowhere in sight. Of course, as soon as Dean’s vocal chords were working properly, he chose to use them to start shouting again.

“That son of a bitch!” he yelled, “See, Sam? I told you he was no good!”

“He just wanted us to stop fighting, Dean!” Sam said, struggling to keep his voice at a reasonable volume.

“Yeah? Why does he care? It’s between us!”

“Remember who you’re shouting about, man! Gabriel. You know, the archangel who ran away from heaven because he couldn’t take the fighting?” Sam said, glaring at his brother, “Obviously he doesn’t like it! So you’ve got that, plus his brother, the Devil, who fucking stabbed him in the room. I feel like he’s a bit entitled to leaving once he’s uncomfortable!”

Dean was silent for a moment before rolling his eyes and sighing. “Whatever. We’ll talk about this later,” he grumbled before marching off to his room, probably to brood or something.

 

For the second time since they came clean about Gabriel being awake, Sam found the archangel sitting on his bed in tears.

“Gabe?” Sam asked quietly, easing himself onto the bed.

“Go away.”

“Gabe, this is my room.”

“I don’t want to talk, Sam.”

“Then don’t,” Sam replied, leaning back on his bed and picking up a book. “Do whatever is going to make you feel better. As long as it doesn’t hurt me, or Dean, or anyone else, really.”

“Really?” Gabriel asked, turning to face Sam, “Whatever? I’m the Trickster, Sam-a-lam. Whatever entails a lot of things.” His face was red and tear stained.

“Really. So long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. Yeah, you’re the Trickster, but you’re also the Archangel Gabriel, and we’re gonna need you out of a funk if we’re gonna beat Amara,” Sam said, turning the page.

Gabriel seemed to be thinking it over, and after a minute he whispered, “Anything at all?”

“Yes, anything at all.”

And so that’s how Sam Winchester found himself playing the little spoon to the fourth most powerful being in existence.

 

Dean knocked on their door‒no, Sam's door; just because Gabriel had stayed here for a few months didn't mean they share‒a few hours later. Sam quickly sat up and shoved Gabe away, focusing on his book instead of playing with Gabriel's hair. Not that he was playing with Gabriel's hair. Nope. Not at all.

“Sammy?” Dean asked through the door.

“Yes, Dean?” Sam grumbled, still a bit pissed off.

“I'm, uh, I'm sorry. About what happened. You're a grown up, I get that, and I get that I… I can't tell you what I do, little brother. Please let me in?” Dean asked.

Sam stared at Gabriel is surprise. Dean, apologising? What planet had they landed on? Gabe looked just as shocked and shrugged, mouthing ‘I didn't do anything!’.

Once Sam opened the door and Dean saw Gabriel, his face contorted into confusion. “The hell is he doing in here?” he asked, pointing at Gabriel.

“Where do you think I've been hiding out for the past few months, Dean-o? Tahiti?” Gabriel asked, rolling his eyes.

“Wait. Are you two…?”

“What?! Oh God no! It's not like that, Dean, I swear!” Sam yelled, smacking his brother's shoulder.

Gabriel hid his hurt look in a magazine he'd snapped up. Did the thought of them together really disgust Sam that much?

“Thank God. I don't think that's a mental image I could handle,” Dean muttered, rubbing his face.

“So, are we going to discuss the plan? Like adults?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah. Chuck and, uh, Lucifer are back in the library. Crowley’s there too,” Dean said, scratching the back of his head.

“Crowley? What’s he doing here?” Sam asked, looking baffled. And honestly he should be. Why was the King of Hell sitting in his library?

“He’s here to help. And… so is Rowena…”

“How long have they been here?” Sam asked.

“About half an hour.”

“Okay, back up. Crowley? Rowena? You mean the only parent-child duo more fucked up than Dad and, well, all his kids?” Gabriel asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“And you knuckleheads brought them here? The biggest Magical Museum in the world? You do realise that if they take something, just one thing they could become about a thousand times more powerful, right?” Gabriel asked.

“Hey! Wasn’t my idea!” Sam said, holding up his hands.

“And where else would we host the Legion of Doom, shorty?” Dean asked, glaring at the archangel.

“I dunno, somewhere where they’re less liable to steal a death ray?” Gabriel fired right back.

“Look, they’re here now, and while it’s not the best plan, it’s happening. So let’s go, before they do get their hands on some kryptonite, okay?” Sam said, stepping between Dean and Gabriel. They both nodded and headed towards the library.

They shouldn’t have been surprised to see a fight had broken out. What else do you get when you mix God, Satan, the King of Hell, and a witch?

Lucifer had Crowley on the floor, Chuck was trying to reason with his son, and Rowena was goading everyone on.

“Hey!” Sam shouted, “What the hell is going on?!”

“C’mon, Sam, I was just going to disintegrate him,” Lucifer said with a smirk.

“He’s bloody insane! Get him off!” Crowley shouted.

“Luci, Luci, Luci. And you always said I was the immature one,” Gabriel mocked in a joking tone, but there was an unmistakable edge to his voice. He was afraid.

“Fuck, just sit down and quit acting like children! You’re the Devil, not some toddler!” Dean yelled.

Lucifer sneered but did as he was told.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, has anyone told you two what the plan is?” Sam said, sitting down and trying to stay as far away from Lucifer as possible. Gabriel seemed to be having the same thoughts, and sat directly next to him.

“Yes yes, we blast Amara with a soul bomb and Bunny Slippers over there shoves her back in her cage. Then Moose takes the Mark to keep her in, and somehow Squirrel lets him without having an aneurysm,” Crowley said dryly. Dean tensed up at his words.

“That’s… that’s pretty much it. Really, what we need to figure out now is how exactly we’re going to get the soul bomb to the Darkness,” Sam said.

“I’ll do it,” Gabriel said simply.

“Do what?” Dean asked.

“Oooh, little brother, have Martyr Boys rubbed off on you?” Lucifer cooed, and Sam wanted to punch him in his smug face.

“What does he mean?” Dean asked.

“Gabey here is going to blow himself to bits.”

“What?!” Sam yelled, turning and looking at Gabriel.

“It’s the only way,” Gabriel said simply.

“No it’s not!” Sam said back, “We have seven people at this table, and one’s a demon, one’s a witch, and one is the Devil himself. So why does it have to be you?”

“Sammy, words hurt,” Lucifer leered.

“Because they won’t do it,” Gabriel said over his brother, “They won’t and you know it. We can’t use Dear Old Dad, that’d be leaving Amara a yin without a yang, so that leaves exactly two people. Dean-o, which is an option you’re even less fond of, and me.”

“But…”

“No but’s, Sam. If Dean can’t tell you what to do, then you certainly can’t tell me what to do.”

“No, but he can,” Sam said, pointing at Chuck, “You wouldn’t let your son do this, would you? Use himself as a sacrifice?”  
Chuck looked away sadly. “You’ve heard the story of Jesus, Sam. You know the answer,” he said.

“Sam, man, it’s his decision,” Dean said, trying to placate his brother. Sam was silent, a look of hurt and confusion on his face.

“Great, now that we’ve got that figured out, all we need are souls. I’m guessing that’s where Anthony Hopkins over there comes in,” Gabriel said, gesturing at Crowley, “and then we need Gingersnap to build the bomb.” This time he pointed at Rowena.

“And then you blow yourself up,” Sam growled.

“And you sign up for a lifetime membership at Demons-R-Us. Your point?” Gabriel asked.

“Okay then. Well. This has been nice. Good game plan, team. Now I’m going to get a beer,” Dean grumbled, quickly getting up and heading towards the kitchen. Chuck followed, and Lucifer disappeared to wherever he’d been staying lately. Crowley muttered something about hunters being terrible hosts and needing a scotch before heading off to who knows where. Rowena seemed to agree with her son because she was gone a moment later, leaving Sam and Gabriel alone in the library.

For a minute they just sat there, glowering to themselves before Gabe sighed and said, “Look, there’s no point in just sitting here and scowling like someone’s shoved their fist up your ass without lube. It’s our last night on earth, kiddo. Let’s say we make the most of it, eh?”

Sam turned and looked at the archangel, the frown still on his face for a moment before he took a breath and relaxed. “Last night on earth, huh? What exactly do you have planned?”

 

Sam expected Gabe to take him out drinking. Maybe he'll take them to a bar in Vegas or something, but it'd still be drinking and partying.

Instead, he was standing in front of a pyramid.

“Sam Winchester, the Great Pyramids of Giza. Giza, Sam,” Gabriel said, putting his hands into his pockets and smirking.

Sam didn't know what to do.

“Holy shit,” he said, staring up at the stone monuments.

“Not exactly the articulate, intellectual response I was expecting, but it'll do,” Gabe said with a laugh.

“Thank you so much,” Sam said, a grin splitting his face.

“Anytime, kiddo. Now, are we going to stand here all day or are we going to go explore some pyramids?”

 

It doesn't dawn on Sam what this is until he's sitting in a little cafe in Cairo. Gabriel insisted on getting dinner after their little adventure, and so here they were, eating koshari and laughing at Gabe's stories of the Egyptian gods.

Gabriel is halfway through his tale about having to help Isis make a magical dick for her husband when Sam comes to his realization.

This is a date.

He's on a date.

With Gabriel.

And he loves it.

Gabriel waved a hand in front of Sam’s face. “Earth to Sam, come in Sam.”

Sam blinked a few times and Gabriel came back into focus. He must have zoned out a little bit, gotten distracted. “Oh, uh, sorry. . .” Here he was, on a date with an archangel.

And he couldn't do anything about it.

Tomorrow they would fight Amara. Tomorrow Gabriel would blow himself to smithereens, and Sam would take on a curse that would eventually turn him into the very thing he'd been fighting against being this whole time.

They were too late.

Doing something now would just make things more complicated and painful; it would make it harder to let go.

“Sam!” Gabriel barked, and Sam was yanked from his thoughts. “You sure you're okay there, kiddo?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Distracted,” Sam explained, shaking his head to clear it. It would be so easy, now, to just lean over the table and capture Gabe's lips with his own, but he couldn't.

“You wanna share with a class?” Gabriel asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“Jeez, you are distracted. Now, tell good ol’ Uncle Gabe what's on your mind.”

Sam choked on his hibiscus tea.

“One, don't ever call yourself ‘Uncle Gabe’ again. Christ, you sound like a pervert. Two, I'm just… thinking. About tomorrow,” Sam said, and by the time he ended his statement his eyes were glued to the pavement.

Gabriel was silent for a moment before reaching across the table and placing his hand on top of Sam's. “I’m… I'm sorry it came to this, Sam,” he said, a certain sincerity about him that Sam had only seen when the archangel was terrified and sure Metatron would come for him any second.

“I am too,” Sam said quietly.

Damn it, damn it all to hell. Of course, of fucking course this would all happen now. Now, when they were literally celebrating their last night on earth, now he would realize what he'd had in front of him for months.

“It's not fair,” Sam said, fists clenching as he fought back the urge to scream.

“I know, kiddo. Trust me, I know.”

 

Gabriel was this close to saying screw it and throwing all sensibility out the window. Sam was so close, so damn close. Gabriel had everything he'd wanted for weeks‒months‒now. The youngest Winchester was across from him, laughing and smiling and comfortable, and for a moment Gabriel could pretend this was normal. That they were just a couple on a date.

And then he was brought back to reality.

Tomorrow he would die. Tomorrow he'd give himself up for the Greater Good, do what he'd sworn he'd never do. All for Sam Winchester; only now was it bothering him. He was dying for one pesky human, one pesky human who was willing to endure literal hell for the rest of the world. One human who’d already given so much. One human who deserved better.

It really wasn’t fair, but that didn’t matter now.

They were both silent for another moment before Gabriel said, “So, this koshari is really good, right?”

Sam seemed to understand what Gabriel was doing. He was changing the subject, ignoring the inevitable, and running in every way but the literal one.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” the hunter replied, taking another bite.

They dissolved into mindless conversation after that.

 

They got back to the bunker around midnight, crawling into bed together the way they had for months now, but this time there was an unmistakable air of remorse and longing in the room. They both wanted to fill that gap between them, to hold the other until morning, to act on their feelings, but they both also knew they couldn’t. They both knew it’d cause more pain than anything else.

The next morning was a dismal affair. Dean made breakfast, omelets and bacon and toast and other things he knew Sam liked, while Rowena assembled the bomb from the souls Crowley had apparently brought last night.

Dean had also tried grilling Sam on where he and Gabriel had disappeared to the previous night, but Sam had shrugged him off with a, “He took me to a bar.” Sam didn’t know why he was lying, but he felt this was something he needed to keep to himself. It felt special. Sacred.

Gabriel was quiet as he watched the bomb form. Fourteen billion years he’d been kicking around the universe. Fourteen billion wasn’t bad.

No one had seen Chuck or Lucifer all morning, and honestly? Everyone else was fine with that, as long as they showed up to fight.

Rowena called Gabriel over and explained how the bomb worked‒as if he didn’t know. But, he nodded and braced himself against a chair as she filled him full of damned souls.

To say it hurt was an understatement. His grace felt like it was being spit-roasted over a holy fire. He was pretty sure his vessel would melt if not for the sheer amount of energy he was focusing on keeping from melting. After it was done, Gabriel’s hands flew to his face, and he could feel tears and breaks in the skin.

“Well well well, baby brother, if I was still wearing Nick we’d be twinsies, wouldn’t we?” Lucifer asked, picking this very moment to turn the corner into the library.

“Fuck off, asshat,” Gabe grumbled. He wasn’t in the mood for his older brother’s bullshit.

“Ooooh, such mean words, coming from the savior of the universe,” the Devil mocked, and Gabriel spat at him.

“Someone had to do it,” he growled, pushing himself out of his chair and stumbling.

Sam was at his side in a minute. “Hey hey hey, easy now,” he said, holding Gabe’s arm to support him.

“I’m a bomb, not a horse, kiddo,” Gabriel mumbled.

“Oh, to be young and in-”

“Lucifer I swear to our father if you finish that sentence I will shove my blade up your ass.”

“And hurt poor little Castiel?” Lucifer asked, dropping his voice to the range Cas usually spoke in, “We both know you’d never hurt him, Gabriel.”

“Hey!” Dean yelled, pointing a finger at the Devil, “You leave Cas out of this, you son of a bitch!”

“I'm only saying the truth! We all know Gabriel wouldn't dare hurt his favorite little sibling. Practically raised him, just like I raised you,” Lucifer sneered, with a pointed look at Gabe.

“I did better, actually,” Gabriel snapped.

“That's enough!” Dean demanded, slamming his hands on the table. “How about instead of fighting, we focus on what we’re supposed to be doing?! You know, stopping the world from being destroyed?”

“Fine, fine, touchy,” Lucifer said dismissively, but it was obvious that if his father hadn't been keeping him in check, the Devil would've reached more violent measures.

“So, Dean-o, can you call up ol’ Auntie Evil?” Gabriel asked, trying to play it cool even though Sam was the only thing keeping him upright.

“What? Here? Are you crazy?” Sam asked.

“No, you massive lunk. But it'd be nice to know before we go set up Fort We're All Gonna Die,” Gabriel muttered, holding his side.

“We are not all going to die,” Dean said with conviction.

“Speak for yourself, Winchester,” Gabe grumbled.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Sam asked, pressing a hand to Gabriel's head as I the archangel had a cold. He quickly withdrew it. Gabe was burning up.

“Sam. I'm about as far from okay as non-humanly possible. Let's just get this show on the road.”

“Now I'd love to stay and watch the battle royale,” Crowley said from where he'd been watching this whole scene play out, “But I'd rather not be turned into paste.” And just like that he was gone.

“I must say I agree with Fergus,” Rowena said, brushing her hands on her dress, “So if you don't mind…” And she disappeared.

“Great. Anyone else wanna head out, or are we going to get going while the goings not lethal?” Gabriel quipped.

“Yeah, let's go. Uh, Dean? Can you go get Chuck?” Sam asked.

Dean sighed but nodded. “Meet me in Baby, and no funny business.”

And that's how Sam Winchester ended up sitting in a car with God, Satan, and the Archangel Gabriel on the back seat.

 

They tried to act like things were normal up until they pulled into the drive of the warehouse south of Lebanon.

“Dean, I…” Sam started, but he didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t, Sam. Just don’t. Even if you do take the Mark, you won’t die then and there,” Dean grumbled, hoisting a duffle full of weapons over his shoulder.

“Dean, please. You know better than anyone, I won’t be allowed to stay here,” Sam said, grabbing his brother’s arm.

Dean shoved Sam’s hand off of him. “C’mon, Sammy, we’ve got work to do,” he said, heading into the warehouse.

Sam didn’t know what to say.

 

“Now, Dean,” God muttered, watching from behind His favorite son. Dean nodded and opened his arms.

“C’mon, Amara! I’m here, I’m ready to… become part of you or whatever!” he shouted. The warehouse was silent for a moment, and then the ground shook. Dust was jostled into the air, where it was caught in sunbeams. Crates and boxes toppled over with a crash, the ancient televisions and radios they held smashing as they hit the ground. There was a roaring sound, like a speeding train and thunder and waves pounding against cliffs all at once, and then it was silent.

The doors flew open, and there was Amara, her red hair blowing in the wind.

“Brother,” she said quietly, staring past Dean and Lucifer and right into the eyes of God.

“Gabriel,” Chuck said, looking away, “Now. Do it now.”

“But everyone-” Gabe stuttered.

“Now, Gabriel!” his father roared, and the archangel stepped out in front of the Darkness. He was about to close his hand, to finish it all, when Amara chuckled and tossed him aside with a flick of her wrist, as if she was simply shooing away a fly.

“Really, brother? You thought I wouldn’t see the sheer power radiating off him? I knew what he was the moment I arrived,” the Darkness sneered, and Sam had to fight the urge to run to the archangel lying in a crumpled heap.

Instead he ran at Amara, swinging the angel blade he held in an arc in front of him.

It was if the dam had been broken.

Dean was with him, slashing at the Darkness with a knife that shattered on impact. Lucifer seemed to have appeared behind Amara, attacking her with a sword of his own.

Chuck was right there with them, a pained expression on his face as he dueled front and center with his sister.

A few minutes into the fighting and Gabriel was struggling to his feet, a look of worry on his face. “The bomb!” he cried, “It’s gone!”

In that moment, Sam knew they were going to lose. He could feel it. There was blood running down his forehead, his nose was broken, along with a few ribs, and his knuckles were caked in blood—he wasn't even sure it was his own. And he wasn’t even the worst.

Dean was fine, his ‘we can’t hurt each other’ bond with Amara doing it’s job, but Lucifer was bleeding out of his nose and ears, and his eyes were red like every blood vessel in them had popped. Even Chuck was limping along.

They needed more power.

Sam was worried it would come to this. But he wasn't going to let fear stop him

He had a feeling Lucifer wouldn’t be at full strength, not when he was inhabiting another angel’s vessel. With said other angel in it. He wasn't in his true vessel. Plus Cas, as an angel, would be a huge help in this fight. Far more than Sam could be.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, “We need to regroup!”

Dean nodded, ducking and weaving his way behind a crate. God and Satan followed right behind them.

“Chuck,” Sam said once they were relatively safe, “We need to get Gabe-Gabriel over here. Can you swing that?”

“What? Why? The bomb’s gone, Sammy,” Dean said.

“He’s still an archangel, he’s still powerful. And besides, I’ve… I’ve got a plan,” Sam explained.

Chuck nodded, and with a snap Gabriel was standing next to Sam.

“Now, what’s the pla‒WHAT THE FUCK?!?” Dean screeched.

Sam didn't pay him any mind. He'd grabbed Gabe by the shoulders, spun him so that his back was against the wooden crate, and was kissing him like it was the last thing he'd ever do.

A moment passed and the two broke apart, Gabriel's face full of confusion and Sam's full of pain. “I'm sorry,” the hunter whispered, kissing him again, softer and lighter this time. He reluctantly pulled himself away from Gabriel and turned to his brother. “I'm sorry, Dean, but I have to.”

“Sam. Sam, what are you doing?” Gabriel asked, holding onto the sleeve of Sam's jacket, but Sam payed him no mind.

“Lucifer,” Sam said, staring the Devil down.

“What?! Sammy, no! What are you doing?” Dean yelled.

“He swore, Dean. He swore that if I healed Gabriel he'd do whatever is necessary,” the Devil said with a grin.

“Sam, listen to me. You can't do this! What if-what if he doesn't give you back?” Gabriel asked, his grip on Sam’s arm never loosening.

Sam swallowed and gently pushed Gabe’s hand off of him. He took a deep breath and locked eyes with Lucifer, preparing himself to go through a hell he’d hoped to never go through again. He'd said he wasn't going to be Lucifer’s bitch, but this was the only way. He was ready to die, to watch those he loved die, but he wasn't ready to watch the world burn. Not because he was stubborn and selfish. Not again. He was the least useful one here, he could at least do this much. His jaw was set, his shoulders back and his eyes determined, and he gave a small nod and said the word. Three letters that would condemn him to this fate.

“Yes.”

“Sam, no!” the near-unison shout from Dean and Gabriel echoed in his ears as the world was suddenly encompassed with a bright flash of light that had everyone covering their eyes.

And then Sam wasn't Sam anymore.

 

Lucifer rolled his shoulders and tilted his head from side to side. “Ah,” he sighed happily. “Good to be back in my proper body,” he said with an awful smile.

“Don't get comfortable, that ‘proper’ body ain't yours,” Dean snapped, his mind and emotions at war—it looked like Sam, but this was the opposite of Sam. Lucifer.

“Oh, don't be too sure of that, Dean,” Lucifer sneered, straightening the sleeves of Sam's jacket.

“You have to leave him when this is finished, Lucifer. Sam has to take the Mark,” Chuck said, narrowing his eyes at his son.

Meanwhile a quiet groan had caught Dean’s attention, and he was now supporting a disoriented Castiel.

“What… Dean?” the angel asked.

“Yeah, yeah it's me, buddy,” Dean reassured, tightening his grip around Cas’ shoulders. The hunter was torn like he'd never been before. He had Cas back, and damn that was fantastic, but now he'd lost his brother.

“What happened?” Castiel asked. He looked over their small group, and his eyes locked on Lucifer. “No,” he murmured.

“Oh yes,” Lucifer said with a smirk that looked so completely wrong on Sam's face that Dean and Gabriel both felt like throwing up.

“Okay, okay. That's enough. Lucifer, are you at full power?” Chuck asked.

Lucifer grinned and with a blink had his angel blade in his hand, longer and deadlier looking than before, and there was this glint of pure power in his eyes. In Sam's eyes.

“So it would seem,” he said.

“Good. You take right. Gabriel, you take left. Castiel, cover Gabriel and Dean, you cover for Lucifer. I've, uh, I've got the front,” Chuck said, pulling back out his sword.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean asked, taking a step between God and Cas.

“What?” Chuck replied, a look like fire in his eyes.

“Cas, he-he can't fight! He just got back from being Satan's merry-go-round!” Dean yelled.

“He's a soldier, Dean. He was made to fight,” God said.

“Father,” Gabriel said quietly, placing himself on front of both Dean and Castiel, “Cas… he's hurt. You've gotta be able to see that. So, please, either heal him or don't make him fight.”

Chuck sighed and nodded, and a moment later Castiel was standing up straight, the look of pain removed from his face. “Now,” God said, “Let's go.”

 

This is the part where everyone would love to say the tables turned, that things started going well, that Amara was beaten quickly and easily.

But really? This was the Winchesters. Nothing was ever that simple.

But they fought alright. Dean used his immunity to the Darkness to deflect blows and blasts heading for Lucifer‒and by extension, Sam. Cas had fallen behind his older brother like they'd never stopped fighting together. Chuck's dorky, incompetent facade had fallen away, and he was fighting with all the power and intent of the Almighty God.

That didn't mean it was going well.

Of course, Amara wasn’t in perfect shape either. Her dress was torn to shreds, and there was a long gash on her right arm. At one point she must’ve been hit in the face because her lip was bleeding and a dark purple bruise was flowering over her left eye.

Suddenly there was a howl that sounded like pain itself had opened it’s jaws, and the whole group was thrown back from the Darkness. Except for Dean, who stood right behind Amara.

“Listen up, bitch!” he yelled, pulling a gun out from somewhere no one really wanted to think about. The Darkness spun to face him, and her face was twisted into a scowl.

“Oh, Dean, you know you can’t hurt me,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the hunter.

“Yeah, well, while that’s about the thing I’d love to do most right now, that’s not my goal, sweetheart,” Dean said, the pet name oozing in distaste.

“WHAT?!” Lucifer yelled, scrambling to his feet.

“You shut the hell up,” Dean growled at the thing possessing his brother, “Amara, look, you don’t want this.”

“Oh, but I do. I want‒I want to make him pay for everything he’s done! He locked me in a box for eons! He betrayed me and abandoned me and replaced me! Do you even know what that feels like? To have your little brother turn his back on you?” Amara said, the air around her crackling with the power of her anger.

“Fuck yeah, I do! Me and Sam? We’ve been through more shit than most people can even imagine. But you know what? We still love each other because we’re family. And even though we fight and leave each other and do things the other person hates, we’re always gonna love each other because that’s what family does. So you know what?

Yeah, he fucked up. And you fucked up. But you don’t want to kill him!” Amara’s face changed from fury to confusion. “But… he’s hurt me and I just want to show him what it's like to hurt that bad,” she said.

“That’s revenge for you. It’ll get you up in the morning, and it’ll feel damn good when you get it, but it’s not going to help. It’s not gonna make you feel any better. Trust me, I know,” Dean said, “Amara, listen, you don’t want this. You don’t want him dead.”

There was a moment of quiet and then Chuck rose to his feet, stumbling a few times before he regained his balance. He held his hands up in surrender to his sister.

“Amara…” he said, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change what you did, brother,” the Darkness replied, “In the beginning there was us, and-and then you needed more. You needed more than me! I was happy, alone, with you, but you-you needed worshippers. A fan club. You locked me away for eternity!”

“I did, and I’m sorry, but sister, please, just look around you! Creation? It’s beautiful,” Chuck placated.

“As of right now creation looks like a dusty old warehouse that smells like rot,” Amara deadpanned, her expression steely.

“Yes, but you’ve been out there! You’ve seen it! The sun, the stars, flowers and trees, birds and fish and people. You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty great.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“Actually, I think it does. We have this whole world. Everything. It’s ours, Amara,” Chuck said, edging closer to his sister.

“It’s yours. I had nothing to do with it,” the Darkness growls.

“But you can, now. Come with me. I’ll show you all of it, we can see it together!”

“But why would I? Why?” Amara asked, now a single step away from her brother, who reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Because you’ve seen it, and I know that, somewhere in you, you found it beautiful. You found it good. I never made all this to have for myself, sister. I made it to share. To share with you,” he said.

“Then why did you lock me away?”

“Because you wouldn’t see it, not because you couldn’t.”

The warehouse was dead silent.

“At least… at least try, sister.”

Amara stared at her brother for a moment, as if she was trying to understand what he was saying. She narrowed her eyes, still obviously feeling angry and hurt and betrayed, but she nodded slowly.

“I… I can try.”

The whole group released a breath none of them knew they’d been holding.

Chuck and his sister linked arms, a sort of otherworldly aura about them, and Amara smiled. “You know, Dean,” she said, “You may be right.” The two being disappeared into pillars of smoke.

 

“Well,” Lucifer was the one to break the long silence that had settled over the group, “that didn't go as planned.” He flashed a grin that would never fail to make Dean and Gabe shudder—it looked so wrong on a face that should be full of warm smiles and sparkling eyes. “But we still won.”

“Yeah, we did. So give Sam back,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes.

Lucifer made a face. “Well. . . I don't know about that.”

Dean shot him a dark glare. “Hey! The agreement was, we defeat the Darkness, you give him back!”

“You know, I never actually agreed to anything. Actually, the issue was that Sam was going to take on the Mark of Cain. Now that Dad and Auntie Amara are all buddy-buddy, there's absolutely no reason for me to leave this vessel.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a reason!” Dean growled, stepping towards Lucifer.

“Dean!” Gabriel cut in, grabbing the Winchester’s shoulder. “Anything you try to do to him isn't going to hurt anyone but Sam,” he reminded him, hating being the rational one in the situation.

Dean sighed, knowing Gabriel was right but being unwilling to admit it. “He can't just keep Sam!”

“Well, technically —” Lucifer began, but was quickly cut off by a sharp, “No!” From Gabriel.

“You let him go, Lucifer,” he said, eyes alight with a fire he really shouldn't indulge, but he really wanted to.

“And if I don't?” He asked, with an irritating—well, more irritating than his mere personality—nonchalance. Gabriel wanted to fucking deck him.

“I didn't kill you once. I won't make that mistake again.”

Lucifer laughed. “You? Kill me? You tried, little brother. That's how you ended up dead. Plus, how would you going to kill me in a way that wouldn’t kill Sam? Like it or not, I'm going be nice and cozy in this vessel for a while. Home sweet home.”

Gabriel charged. There was a resounding crash as the blades of the last remaining archangels clashed together. There were sparks flying through the air, whether because of metal hitting metal or because of the sheer power the two being were emitting, no one knew.

“Dean,” Castiel shouted, “We need to leave. Now.”

“Not without Sam!” Dean yelled, pulling out an angel blade of his own.

“Dean, there's nothing you can do! They're going to decimate this place!”

“I'm not leaving my brother, Cas!”

“Yes you are. So am I,” the Angel of the Lord said, grabbing the hunter by the arm and leaving the Holy Messenger and the Morningstar to fight over a man who's so much more than a man.

 

When Dean says Gabriel crashed into the bunker six hours later, he doesn't mean the archangel came in and flopped down on the sofa. No, he means Gabriel smashed face first into the wall right outside the front door.

“Where's Sam?” is the first thing out of the hunter's mouth as he half-drags Gabriel to the library. The next thing he does is shout for Castiel.

Dean was expecting some sort of smart ass remark, maybe a ‘Hi to you too’, but instead he's faced with a look of pure fucking despair and the words, “Lucifer got away.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grumbled.

“Where's your tracking system,” Gabriel said, all business.

“Woah, man, you sure you don't wanna clean up first?” Dean asked, noticing the long gash across Gabriel's face, and the growing red spot near his shoulder.

At that moment Cas ran into the library, his trench coat flapping behind him like a cape. “Brother,” he said, “Where is Sa-”

“Lucifer still has him,” Dean explained. Cas nodded and helped Dean prop up the archangel, and was about to heal him, but Gabriel shrugged them off.

“Don't. Let's worry about Sam right now, okay?” he gritted out.

Dean nodded and showed Gabriel the world map table. “We had this friend, Charlie, she hooked up our phones and computers and shit to this map. If I can get it to work right, it should be able to use Sam's GPS to track his phone, and then show it on the map. As long as Lucifer still has Sam's phone, we should be able to find him,” Dean explained, opening Sam's laptop and turning the tracking system on.

“And if he doesn't have a phone?” Gabriel asked.

“Can’t you find him, brother?” Cas asked.

“You know those Enochian sigils you scribbled on these two dipshits’ ribs a while back?”

“I remember that. Hurt like hell,” Dean mumbled.

“Well, they're still doing their job. Sam is hidden from me, and as long as Lucifer is possessing him, so is he.”

“So this map is the only thing that can find him,” Cas said dryly, staring at the map with something near distrust.

“Unless you'd like to summon the Prince of Evil, yeah,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes.

“Well then,” Dean said, “Let's hope Charlie knew her stuff.”

 

Sam was in more pain than he could ever remember being in, which for him was a whole fucking lot. His pain scale seven was most people's twelve, and right now he'd give himself a solid ten.

It felt like Lucifer had turned his Grace into little frozen claws and was ripping Sam's soul apart piece by piece.

Not to mention the way all those blows from Amara had felt on his physical body.

So when Gabriel flung himself at him, archangel's blade already caked in blood, Sam wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to, you know, help Gabriel out.

As his soul was being lashed with Satan's frozen Grace whip, he was minutely aware of what Gabriel was saying‒things like, “Cast him out, Sam!” and, “Sam, please! I know you're in there!”‒but the meaning didn't really register. He couldn't think about anything but the agony that was being inflicted on him at the present moment, and each moment felt like ages.

He would just have to bear it until the battle was over. Then he would take the Mark and face an all new kind of hell for the rest of eternity.  
If this was his fate? Well, at least he deserved it.

 

When they fired up the map, it wasn't hard to find the little blip representing what was hopefully Sam’s location.

“Berlin?! Are you fucking kidding me?!” Dean shouted, turning and sweeping the books and plates off the map table and onto the floor.

“Calm down, Winchester,” Gabriel said with a cold air of determination.

“He's in Germany!” Dean yelled.

“And you have an archangel willing to use the entire arsenal of heaven to get your brother back,” Gabriel said.

Dean took a step back back. “You're kidding,” he said.

“Gabriel, to use all that power, you'd have to reenter heaven, get past guards, and get around warding. It'd be a full on battle,” Castiel said.

“Do I look like I'm kidding to you? I'm not saying it's my go to plan, but I am an archangel. I could do it. I will do it to get Sam back.”

Dean had to give him that. “So then, when do we leave?”

“Dean, you're exhausted. You need sleep,” Castiel said.

Gabriel snapped his fingers. “There. Angelically recharged batteries. You're welcome. I say we go now,” he said.

“Gabriel, I want to save Sam as much as you do, but are you sure this is wise? To charge in after Lucifer without a plan?” Cas asked.

“Was it wise to devour all the souls in purgatory? To team up with Metatron? To perform the spell that released the Darkness? To let Lucifer out of the cage in the first place?” Gabriel snapped.

Dean socked him in the mouth, which Gabriel certainly was not expecting. “Shut the hell up. I get that you're pissed about Sam, but don't take it out on Cas,” he said.

“You're one to talk,” Gabriel said under his breath, “I'm leaving. You can decide whether you're coming or not.” He raised his fingers to snap.

“Wait! We're coming,” Dean said.

Gabriel nodded and they all disappeared with a snap of his fingers.

 

The trio appeared—Dean shaking off the odd sensation flying always left crawling under his skin—at the bottom of what looked like a dry, run down swimming pool.

“What the hell?” Dean grumbled, looking around at pale blue tile and broken glass windows. A rusted diving board was directly above their heads, some fifty feet or so in the air, and this was pretty much the exact opposite of what he had been expecting. “Where the hell are we?”

There was a slight scowl on Cas’ face, eyebrows knitted together, blue eyes narrowed in concentration. “It appears. . .” his eyes widened in realization, and Dean was a little worried considering he had almost never seen this much emotion from the angel. “We’re in the 1936 Olympic Village, just outside of Berlin.”

“Olympic Village?” Of all things, Dean found himself wishing for Sam’s nerd rants—he would really appreciate some further explanation right about now.

“In 1936, the Olympics took place in Berlin,” Gabriel explained, distracted by the lack of Lucifer in the room. He should know they were here by now. Neither angel could sense his presence, but he could easily be heavily warded. Maybe he was laying low. Waiting for them to come to him. “Two years after it was decided, the Nazi’s came to power. Germany wanted to outdo the Los Angeles stadium from the previous games, so they built this. It’s its own little city. Huge. Lucifer could be anywhere,” he finished, circling back around to the topic at hand as he finished his mini history lesson. He could have kept on (he really quite enjoyed sharing his extensive firsthand knowledge of the world’s most interesting events), but that wasn’t what was important here.

“326 acres of buildings and stadiums,” Cas added, making his way to the ladder to climb out of the decaying swimming pool. They all knew exactly why that mattered–in order to find Lucifer, they may have to search all 326 acres.

Dean and Gabriel followed him. They climbed out of the pool and picked their way through shards of glass, exiting through a shattered floor-to-ceiling window, faced with a huge, dying field of grass. Dean couldn’t help but wonder how much of the destruction, death and decay was due to age, and how much had more to do with a certain fallen angel.

Across from them was a huge stadium, no doubt able to hold well over 50,000 people, maybe even 100,000. Crumbling walls reminded Dean a little bit of pictures of the Roman Colosseum, but beyond that small detail, it was very little like the ancient ruin. It was far more modern, with tall pillars stretching seven stories high, creating the only other semblance to Roman architecture with the archways. However, they were sharp and angular rather than smooth curves.

“He’s gotta be in there.”

The angels nodded, and the rescue squad trudged onward.

 

Their journey seemed pointless when they made it inside and the stadium was empty. It was completely devoid of any presence, angelic or otherwise, besides their own. And that only served to piss them off even more. Them being Dean and Gabriel, as Cas didn't really get pissed off. However, he seemed to be just as upset as the others that they weren’t getting anywhere. If Lucifer was here, he wouldn’t just let them roam around. He would have either shown himself, or hightailed it out of here as soon as he caught wind of the three of them. Considering the fact that they hadn’t exactly tried to be sneaky about it, that would have been the moment they arrived. Or maybe even before. The thought that no one wanted to voice was obviously more than a simple worry by now–Lucifer was never here in the first place.

No one was willing to admit to giving up, even though they all knew they were just wasting their time. Even as they searched building after building they didn’t exactly have high hopes.

Finally, after Dean nearly fell through the rotting floor in one of the dormitories they searched, they were nearly ready to turn back. They would return to the Bunker and hope to track Lucifer down before he did too many terrible things while wearing Sam like a prom dress. After checking every nook and cranny of what felt like the hundredth wrong building, they reached a wordless consensus and prepared to return home.

That is, until they saw a bright flash of light coming from the swimming pool, and both of the angels grabbed for Dean and disappeared in a flutter of wings.

The moment they arrived, they knew they shouldn’t have been so stupid and plunged headfirst into the situation. They had no plan, no element of surprise, and no idea where to even begin trying to get Sam back. All they knew was that they were going to.

However, as it turned out, it didn’t matter. There was no one in the room.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled, throwing his hands up, then running them through his hair. His hair that was, with the rest of him, covered in dust and dirt from this damn stadium they had just spent hours searching for nothing. Nothing! Sam wasn’t here, he was still being paraded around as Lucifer’s meat suit, and there was nothing Dean or any of them could do about it. They were screwed.

“Dean, hold on,” Cas cautioned, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder that Dean thought was supposed to be comforting, but the hunter soon realised that Cas was actually gently pushing him backwards as he stepped toward a bench that had probably once been covered in pristine tile, but was now crumbling and broken.

That’s when Dean noticed the silver cell phone looking shiny and modern, at odds with the crumbling ruins it lay in.

“That’s Sam’s,” he said, as if it wasn’t obvious. Next to the phone was a crisply folded, white sheet of paper that Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to know the contents of, for more reasons than the small, scarlet splotches that trailed along one corner. He swallowed hard. “Is that a note?” Once again, he was stating the obvious, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. If he didn’t speak, nobody would. And then they would be sitting in a deafening silence, and that would be far worse than the stupidity of stating facts and asking questions everyone already knew the answers to.

Cas nodded, and Dean glanced to the other angel he had nearly forgotten about. Gabriel’s face was hard, jaw tense and eyes narrowed fractionally. Dean couldn’t read his expression, which he didn’t particularly like, but he forced himself to push past his innate distrust of the archangel and focus on the issue at hand.

“What does it say?” Gabriel asked, and Cas picked up the note and unfolded it. The red stain was apparently fresh, as it smeared across the heel of the angel’s palm, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Cas picked up the phone as well, turning it on and examining it. There was no doubt, it was definitely Sam’s. Lucifer had been here, possibly while they were out searching other buildings. Cas couldn't believe they had missed him by mere moments. If they had been quicker, if they had returned to the pool building before they planned to leave, if they-

Gabriel plucked the note from Cas’ fingers, becoming anxious from just sitting here, watching his little brother stare at a cell phone.

A moment later the pool was shaking with the force of an archangel’s wrath. The note itself was smoking and singed at the edges.

“What did it say?” Dean asked.

“It's all coming down,” Cas said, watching the walls around the pool crumble, “He's bringing it all down.”

“What'd it say?!” Dean yelled, not even listening to the angel.

“Dean. We need to go,” Castiel urged.

“What did the damn note say?!” Dean yelled, going up to Gabriel and grabbing the archangel’s shoulder. A second later he pulled back, his hand red and burnt.

“Dean! If we don't go now this whole place will come down on top of us!” Castiel yelled. He grabbed Dean by a hand and disappeared, leaving Gabriel standing in the middle of the arena as the Olympic Village came down.

Lying on the pool floor was the burning note that said, ‘Do you really think I'd make it that easy?’

**Author's Note:**

> This was our first Big Bang, so we hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Link to art: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10334036

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Heaven Sent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10334036) by [Ookamikuro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ookamikuro/pseuds/Ookamikuro)




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